


Closer (I want to fuck you like an animal)

by Khimaira



Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Sadism, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khimaira/pseuds/Khimaira
Summary: Sweet cries fall from his lips as my jaws close down, hard, grinding his flesh between my blunt human teeth. I am careful not to break the skin, but pride is a warm thing in my belly when blood rises to the surface. An angry mark that shows where I have been.
Relationships: FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Closer (I want to fuck you like an animal)

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless PWP. Set during Fool's Errand. Title from the Nine Inch Nails song, because of reasons.

The Fool’s hands are on my chest, palms flat over bitten muscle. The backs of my knees hit the armchair by the fireplace, and I allow myself to be pushed down. He straddles my lap, one leg on either side of me. Spread wide. The Fool’s head is tilted sideways, an invitation. I find myself burying my face against that tender flesh, licking over where his blood is thrumming beneath the skin. Sweet cries fall from his lips as my jaws close down, hard, grinding his flesh between my blunt human teeth. I am careful not to break the skin, but pride is a warm thing in my belly when blood rises to the surface. An angry mark that shows where I have been. 

My hands flow down the Fool’s back to his still-clothed backside, gripping him tightly with the palms of both hands. He whines deep in his throat as I dig my fingertips in and pull him firmly against me, crushing his hardness against my own straining flesh. His little pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. I want to capture it between my teeth and not let go. I meet his half-lidded gaze and hold it as I grind against him, the friction delightfully uncomfortable with the layers of cloth between us, triumphant when he gasps and attempts to pull back. We both know that he could escape if he truly wished to, wiry strength hidden beneath his slight frame. He rarely does. 

The Fool fumbles with the lacing of his leggings, no trace of his usual precision. I reluctantly let go to allow him to wriggle out of the fabric, baring more of his golden skin to my greedy hands. Free from its constraints, his cock strains against his stomach. A tiny pearl of sweet fluid is gathering at the tip. I catch it with my thumb, smearing it over the pink flesh, and grip him firmly. He gasps.

I give him a few strokes, admiring the contrast of his flushed cock peeking out from my darker grip. My other hand makes its way over his hip, caressing the bruised flesh of his backside. The Fool is still somewhat slick from this morning, and my finger slips into his tight heat with almost no resistance. As I start to pull my finger back again, his hips cant backwards, chasing me. I reward him with a second finger, meeting more resistance now, drawing a hissed sigh from the Fool’s lips. I lazily fuck him with two fingers, with that twist of my wrist that he loves so much, occasionally rubbing against that spot inside that makes his thighs quiver. 

When I force a third finger in, the Fool’s moans take on a pained quality. Too large an intrusion with not enough slick. His face is scrunched tight. His eyes, though, urge me on just the same, blown black and still firmly locked with mine. 

I give the Fool a few more thrusts, fingers dragging and catching against his walls, drawing the most deviant sounds from him. Then I reach for the bottle in the drawer beside me and withdraw my fingers to slather them in oil. I work them into him again, rubbing against his pleasure spot hard enough to be cruel, relishing the gasp it elicits. With my free hand, I undo the laces of my trousers and finally allow my trapped hardness to spring free. I slick myself up and pull the Fool’s hips towards me, positioning him over my cock and pushing him down onto my flesh as I rise up to meet him. 

It still amazes me how hot the Fool runs inside, considering how cool his skin is to the touch. I bury myself deep inside that heat, making space for myself within his body. As close as two people can be. His eyes have fallen shut now, tawny lashes fluttering against delicate skin. His hands are braced on my shoulders, fingertips digging into the muscle hard as he starts to move. 

The Fool works himself up and down, never quite allowing me to slip from his body before he slams down to meet me again. His breathing is growing faster, heavier, but I doubt that it is due to the exertion of riding me. No, this is from the rapturous pleasure of flesh inside flesh, my manhood stretching him wide and pressing where I know he likes it best. Where I myself like it best, on the nights when he bends me over my desk and makes me take him, on the mornings when he wakes me with a warm mouth on my cock and a slim finger seeking entrance. 

I cup the backs of his thighs with both hands, one slippery with oil and the other speckled with ink from the work he interrupted. As I rise from the chair his legs close tight around my waist, fingernails digging into the flesh of my shoulders. I stay buried deep inside him as I stagger across the room to the desk. The Fool hisses as I put him down on the cool wood. He does not struggle as I urge him backwards until his back is flat against it.

In this position, my eyes are drawn to the sweetly pink flesh of his cock, so much lighter and prettier than my own. It fills up my palm in a most satisfying way as I grip him first gently, then wickedly hard. He sobs, hips bucking up against me. Not trying to escape, but to get closer. My own cock throbs inside him, both from sympathy and from the way his body clenches around me. 

I pull back so that I can bury myself deep once more. Now it is my turn to control the pace.


End file.
